Passing
by evilredmenace
Summary: Scrapped Princess fic. Before series or manga. Pacifica is tired of feeling guilty and helpless. But she's not a fighter. Instead, she dyes her hair. What will be Shannon and Raquel's reaction?


She sits with her knees tucked under her chin; her slender arms clutching the length of leg to torso in a common comforting embrace. Beside her, a plate of the untouched evening meal, which tonight consisted of stewed lentils and coarse dark bread; one of the few perks of working at a restaurant.

That evening had been a trial. Certainly, she had occasionally received the requisite catcalling or semi lewd commentary from older men or male peers that made it their business to verbalize inherent male attraction. But Shannon usually dealt this with in a swift and thorough manner via a blow to the face. But he, in a change in form, had found additional work at a nearby lumber mill, and left the majority of her protectors' supervision to Raquel.

The woman in question was thoroughly at work braiding her adopted sister's hair, smiling the contented smirk that always seemed to grace her face. In her nimble hands were the unfamiliar threads of recently darkened hair, still moist from a thorough wash. When Pacifica had greeted her sister, she had been a bit put off by her outward lack of surprise. Instead, Raquel handed her a plate of unappetizing strew, and casually mentioned that their male sibling wouldn't be expected for another hour.

She wondered absently if her brother remembered to wear his globes this morning; the last week or so had dictated a nightly ritual of examining cuts and slivers embedded from his lumber and kindling work; followed immediately by a minor verbal repartee about his lack of common sense.

"Oh, who's talking common sense? You're the one who can't boil water without incinerating half a building. And they've got you in the kitchen?"

Well, actually, she was in charge of delivering the food to the patrons. Raquel was the reliable and thoroughly consistent prep cook. But Shannon didn't need to know the details.

Instead, a firm punch to the shoulder sufficed as her retort.

"Your hair feels softer than it was… what did you use?" Raquel's words drew Pacifica from her thoughts. She felt the continued gentle pressure of the plaiting along the back of her scalp. It was this ritual that felt the most relaxing; the familiar, soothing gesture of Raquel manipulating her unruly hair into something much more manageable. Funny how she couldn't really manage it with the same elegance.

She let out a sigh of relief, it had finally been addressed. "Some sort of berry-based dye. It's supposed to gradually fade with time." This last comment was in defense of the severity of the color. What had initially been an attempt to disguise her identifiable straw locks to a more manageable brunette ended up progressing a little too well. In fact, she could easily pass for a blood relation from a distance; her eyes, however, were her own.

We might actually look like siblings, she mused, eyeing a strand of loose hair off her forehead.

"Your hair absorbs more than say, my hair would," she offered, as if to explain the excessive darkness. "I bet it'll look beautiful in the sunlight." Pacifica smiled, grateful for the thought.

It had been that night when she had decided the hell with her natural color. Even in a setting where it wasn't that uncommon to see versions of that flaxen shade, it was unique enough to draw more of the curious eye. This evening's work shift had been no exception.

The man had been well in his cups, certainly. This was not that uncommon as it was towards the end of the harvest, and the crop had been especially bountiful. Thus, enough excess income to spend on frivolries such as beer and mead, and perhaps, a young pretty thing to share the night with.

At least, that was the idea. In all truth, there were a fair amount of girls, having little to no means of economic sustainability, who would turn to the oldest profession in the world to see them through the winter. And as luck would have it, this tavern saw more than most. Thus the sight of a particularly striking serving girl in the full bloom of youth, hastily presenting pints of ale for the overindulgent; she seemed an easy recipient for their lascivious prodding. To her credit, Pacifica didn't immediately consult Raquel or the wealth of her magical abilities. A few choice words could see these men spending the rest of their evening clutching their stomaches and making well use of the public privy. Then again, there was always a good chance that they would suffer permanent damage, in a rather uncomfortable manner.

Instead, she made well use of her clever tongue, spouting epithets that would normally be deemed far from her nature. This took care of most, as a vestige of propriety would return having been publicly shamed in front of friends and acquaintances. But there were a few who remained resolute in their harassment. A man of generous proportions eyed her like she was something to sup upon. And with his stained tunic and greasy beard, it wasn't a particularly off observation.

This particular gentleman grabbed a handful of her hair, even to go so far as to smell it with a hazy expression of delight.

"Your hair is like sunflowers," he murmured, relinquishing his hold with some reluctance. She forced herself to smile; a smile that did not reach her eyes. The kind of smile that would have surely opened his throat if such things could be believed.

"Your hair is nonexistent," she offered cattily, swiftly grabbing the few coins stacked on the poorly maintained wooden table. "I advise you not to do that again." Her words were strong, but her confidence was forced. Even at little more than 15 years of age, she still felt like the inexperienced child.

And whose fault is that? Her inner thoughts provoked uncomfortable questions. Thus, most were shoved in the back of her head with the rest of the awkward considerations. She didn't like to think that the downside to having two protective asskickers for siblings meant that she didn't have to learn how to fend for herself.

And this case was the perfect example. Fortunately, the man kind of smiled and went back to his beer, but there were certain times where her lack of preparation meant a heady reliance on either Shannon or Raquel. Even now, in the towns without the influence of the church, it was hard enough to blend in with the two opposing siblings, and the young slip of a girl between them.

Certainly, the rumors speculating on the whereabouts of the Scrapped Princess still remained mercifully vague. Word of a young blond girl accompanied with two guardians trained in magic and sword work, respectively, had not reached this town as of yet. But it would. Staying ahead of the gossip was what allowed her to remain alive.

So instead of aimlessly waiting for Raquel to finish her shift, she snuck out to the nearby trading post, found a generic bottle of hair stain, and handed the clerk what had amounted to a night's worth of tips.

"All done," Raquel's voice broke her from her reverie once again. Pacifica placed a hand against the tight coil of braiding, and thanked her. She then made a good effort to choke down some of that dinner, trying to avoid the plentiful assortment of questionable vegetables. She was lucky; if Shannon had actually been there, he would have somehow gotten her to ingest enough to make her ill.

It was supposed to have gone over well. Honestly, an abundance of enthusiasm would have been far too much to ask from him on his best day. But at the very least, he should have been able to appreciate how it easy it would now be to travel now. She certainly did not expect Shannon to drop his work bag, stare her down for a good five seconds, and demand what in the hell she had done to herself.

This particular outburst tasted particularly sour, and instead of patiently explaining her position, Pacifica went on the offensive.

"Even someone as dense of you should be able to figure it out." Okay, not the best approach. But the accumulation of the night's hardship, and additionally irritated by noting that he had, once again, deigned to wear his gloves, brought out the venom from within. Hell, she was supposedly the poison that would destroy the world; might as well act like it.

He stalked over to her, and from this distance she could see the lines of sweat that beaded his upper lip. He had worn himself out again. For her.

"All right. Let me rephrase… what on earth possessed you to change your hair? Is this the face of teenage rebellion?" He chuckled, heaving his cloak and rucksack off his shoulder unceremoniously. "It's a little late, kiddo."

She tilted her head up in what she hoped to be a very haughty manner, keeping her hands in tightened fists at her sides. He's belittling me. I will not get upset. But it was hard to control her seething when he plopped down on a log; what substituted as furniture these days.

"I am NOT in a rebellious phase!" The stamping of her foot seemed to undermine this very sentiment. Regardless, she searched for some sort of adequate slur, but spit out the first thought formed. "Are you rebelling against common sense by not wearing your damn gloves?" This suddenly struck her as impossibly stupid. Why couldn't she employ the verbal arsenal that seemed to be at his beck and call?

They bantered back and forth, with Shannon giving half-hearted replies to the blurted assaults of Pacifica. It was not unexpected; even Raquel, who was skilled in the arts of diplomacy, and was usually able to feel out a resolution, could not permanently assuage their differences. The bickering would end in one of two ways: a visibly annoyed Pacifica stomping off, leaving an equally annoyed Shannon to contemplate before following her. Or, Pacifica remaining stationary, attempting the silent treatment, which last would last for all of ten minutes before going back to her cheerful chirping. In this case, it appeared to be the former.

He found her easily enough. It wasn't as if she were well versed in the art of camouflage. She was sitting by the languid flux of the river, attempting to skip stones along the surface. As her stones were neither flat nor light, they remained attempts. He was once again distracted by the unfamiliar darkness of her hair.

Raquel was like his better half. When he felt the pull of decisive action, she would caution forbearance. When he would take something normally asinine and blow it into something provocative, she had the ability to gentle his anger, and see through the fog of his immediate reaction. So when Raquel prodded him into going after her, he didn't hesitate.

But he was not going to apologize. Not this night.

"Your technique is lousy," he mused, standing a few paces behind her.

"Yeah, well, we all can't have the formidable rock tossing skill that you have acquired," she shot back, cursing when the last one made a decisive **plop** in the middle. They stood silent for several minutes, aware of the lapping of the water and the eerie nighttime calm that darkness brought.

Finally, not being able to bear the silence, Pacifica glanced up at her brother, finding his eyes were already on her in silent contemplation. "Look, I thought it would be easier for us. On YOU." She swallowed, finally sitting back on one of the damn rocks, facing him fully. "This way I won't stand out. This way, there's less chance of people recognizing me, or asking questions." She glared at him as if he had missed the great significance. "This way, neither you nor Raquel-nee would need to fight so often." She shrugged, feeling the slow creeping of recognition among her shoulders. "It's about the only thing I can do."

Sighing, he sat on an accompanying stone, rubbing his lower jaw as if he were worried about unsightly facial hair. His posture was alert, but subdued; she had forgotten that he had been up for nearly fourteen hours since that morning. She suddenly felt the all too familiar brand of guilt; yet another place where the blame could be put on her.

"Pacifica," his eyes sought hers, and the familiar teasing was absent. "We all sort of have our roles in this. Different roles that support different abilities." He paused, once again distracted by the disconcerting change in her hair. "Raquel is best suited to wide defense. Though her magic abilities are less than perfect, her range is long. Whereas I am more than capable in hand to hand combat, specializing in sharp objects such as this." He gestured to the gleaming sword at his shoulder. His eyes softened. "Pacifica is still discovering her abilities, and her untapped potential. So your role is going to remain somewhat shifting for a while. You may feel like a coveted package for some time, but…" He playfully pushed her sideways, upsetting her precarious balance on the rock. "…You have your own talent, and your own value. And if it makes you feel better to dye your damn hair, then so be it. But I don't want to hear your whining weeks from now, when it becomes some sort of green monstrosity. Why didn't you buy a wig?"

"I didn't see any. Besides, they'd probably be cheap and wretched looking."

"Oh, so now we're talking vanity here."

"Look, I just didn't want to look like some floozy with orange yarn for hair."

They walked back with little talk. When she inevitably fell asleep against Raquel, it was Shannon who carried her to the padded mattress inside the wagon. She was still lighter than he expected; like a hollow shell of an adult body. She lay cradled in his arms, reminiscent of a sleeping child, her breathing slow and heavy.

Raquel walked up to carefully unbraid the plaits she had painstakingly put in only an hour or so before, Shannon's grip shifting to accommodate her.

"Good night, Pacifica," she offered, gently draping the hair across Shannon's arm. She gave her a gentle kiss on her forehead, meeting her brother's eyes. In one look, everything that she wanted to say was confirmed. Nothing shall harm this child so long as we live. It was echoed in her proud and defiant stance, and the strength of will behind the slate blue eyes.

Shannon nodded, walking to the wagon to put his sister to bed.


End file.
